Forgotten Souls
by So Electric
Summary: Blaise Zaidi's life flashes before her eyes before it's gone forever.


(They are in the business  
of breaking forgotten souls,  
tweaking minds and twisting lives,  
killing innocence and fluttering doves.)

She pauses breathing for a second, so she can hear what they're saying.  Sleek dark hair falls over her eyes as she leans over.  She's almost ready.

Lucius says "Beautiful…desperate."

LeStrange says "Reminds…Bellatrix."

Then they start talking so softly that she can't hear anymore.  She turns and faces the mirror, examining every flaw, but there aren't any.  She is beautiful.  She is a work of art.  Her neck is long and elegant, hair falling down her back in graceful ease and long dark lashes sheltering wide dark eyes.  And she is evil…not yet but she will be.  She will be like all of them, the beautiful and the evil.  And she will like it.  Her hands falter slightly as she applies mascara.

(Perfection is resting in the horizon.  
Ships float in and out on sunsets,  
some look at the ships,  
others at the sunsets.)

The single most important day of her life.  The day her life ends.  She hears footsteps on the sprawling staircase.  It's Pansy.  She shivers as she enters the bedroom; it's cold, but not unusually.  Not for this way of life.  Pansy stands stiffly.  "Congratulations Blaise."  Blaise nods, then turns back to the mirror, fluffing her hair.  Pansy speaks again.  "Welcome to the system."  She's said it like the system is bad.  Blaise stands, ready to defend it.  She sits back down.  She's not even sure if she believes it.  She speaks slowly and unsurely.  "Fuck the system."  A small smile breaks across Pansy's face.

"You are brave you know."

(I pray and cross fingers,  
ladders are sacred  
and a breaking mirror  
is an omen.  
I hold rosaries and whisper  
sweet somethings.  
I am not perfect  
but I want to be.)

It's times like these that she remembers Pansy.  Before they went to Hogwarts and hairstyles became more important than friendship.  It's not entirely Pansy's fault.  Blaise had something to do with it too.  She remembers.

Blaise is horrifyingly beautiful on the first day of Hogwarts.  Dark sheets of hair fall at ease, across her face.  Her shirt is opened a bit.  She's a woman already.  A woman at eleven.  Pansy rushes up to her.  "Hi Blaise!"  An evil pitying smile crosses Blaise's face.  "Hello Pansy.  Now excuse me."  Blaise turned on her heel, stalking toward a group of boys, staring at her adoringly.  Blaise turns back around.  Pansy is struggling to hold back tears, but it's too late.  They spill across her face and Pansy is shattered.

(Wiping purified tears  
from tired eyes, tired souls  
are shattered. And we  
all pray.)

They didn't know she could sing.  None of them really knew anything about her.  The day she'd stunned them.  Showering while scrubbing the earlier love tryst from her body.  It had been with a Gryffindor, Dean Thomas.  Handsome…wonderful, the one of many who she'd truly loved.  _If only he was different_.  She'd been thinking.  _If only **I**_ _was_ _different_.  Then, she'd broken into song.  

(And, no, you aren't perfect.  
But what is perfection and   
who would want it anyway?)

If you see me walking down the street And I start to cry Each time we meet 

_Walk on by_

_Walk on by_

_Make believe   
that you don't see the tears  
Just let me grieve   
in private 'cause each time I see you  
I break down and cry _

_I just can't get over losing you  
And so if I seem broken and blue  
Walk on by, walk on by  
Foolish pride   
Is all that I have left  
So let me hide   
The tears and the sadness you gave me   
When you said goodbye  
Walk on by  
and walk on by_.

Blaise wiped tears from her eyes as she got out the shower, towel drying her hair.  Pansy had gasped.  "Blaise!  I didn't know you could sing!"  Blaise rose her eyebrows.  "Neither did I."  She turned her back to Pansy.  _I can't have him_.  Then, with unfair certainty, she'd forgotten about him.  About Dean Thomas, about being different, and she'd embraced her future.   

(Little girl one says to  
little girl two, come let  
me show you a little trick.)

It was time.  After fifteen years of waiting for this.  She'd accepted it.  Then why was it so hard for her to walk down the stairs?  It was surreal, not like a dream, but like a horrible nightmare.  Except this was real.  This was it.  This was her future.  Blaise squirmed as Voldemort burned the Dark Mark into her shoulder.ogHHaaww 


End file.
